Thunder in the Rain
by Maeve Cairech
Summary: Yup, it's Part Two. We introduce a fat friar, some dibbuns, a singing squirrel, and many others. Please excuse the bad rhyming on the ditties.
1. Prologue- The Vision

Thunder in the Rain

_Three shall stand, and three alone,  
When the world comes tumbling down,  
The great reborn to fight again,  
Through snow and hail and rain,_

_One who knows his destiny,  
Son of herb and son of tree,  
Born beneath a comet's glow,  
A flash of light to strike the foe,_

_One who's path leads wild and far,  
Lutra marked out by a star,  
From blazing dawn she will return,  
With green fire she shall burn,_

_And one, who shall steadfast stand,  
While the masked one rules the land,  
A whirlwind come to sweep away,  
A storm upon a summer's day,_

_Each will lose and each will gain,  
Feel again the warrior's pain,  
Father, daughter, mother, son,  
Dark Forest gates may spare no-one,_

_When foe is friend, and friend is foe,  
Forth shall the chosen go,  
A mask across the wicked eyes,  
His followers on land and skies,_

_The mountain falls beneath his paws,  
The woodlands bend unto his laws,  
But three alone shall not fall flat,  
And they will win the good earth back._

~ From_ The Cycle of the Ages._

**Prologue- The Vision**

The wind rustled the trees of Mossflower Wood. It blew across the rooftops of Redwall Abbey, making the weathervane spin wildly. But deep under the cover of the trees, all was still.

The great oak tree seemed to dominate the surrounding trees. It's branches stretched far into the sky, and it's roots went deep into the ground.

And in those roots, in maze of passages and chambers that wormed their way under Mossflower, was the ancient manor of Brockhall, seat of the badger rulers of those great woodlands.

But Brockhall had fallen into disrepair after Redwall Abbey had been completed. Bella, the last inhabitant, had become Badger Mother at the abbey, and none but a few travellers looking for a place to sleep had used Brockhall since.

But Sagil loved it here. The ancient passageways were well trodden, and comfortable on his paws. The occasional danger of roof falls were an excitement. And best of all was the solitude. Sagil needed that more than anything.

Sagil Fordwater was an aged water vole. He had left his tribe long ago, his abilities had scared them. Since that awful day in his youth, he had travelled the length and breadth of the land. From far Southsward, to the frozen north. From the eatern marshes, across the Outlands, to Salamandastron, standing sentinel on the western shores. And once, on a ship crewed by sea otters and shrews, he had journeyed across the ocean, to a far land called Sampetra.

A strange place, where peaceful vermin farmed the land, and bands of rogue lizards raided their villages. Odd legends surrounded a castle on a high plateau, of sea serpents, mad-eyed pine martens, mouse warriors with bright swords, and otters who shot red and green fire at their opponents.

But everywhere he went, Sagil could never stay. He knew that sooner or later, somebeast would discover his secret, and he would be driven away, like he was at his village. For Sagil Fordwater was a seer.

Long ago he had discovered that something he dreamed often came true, or that by looking at somebeast he could tell something that would happen to them. When he had predicted that the river he lived by would flood- and it did- his tribe had driven him out, afraid as they were of his talent.

But all that was in the 'before' as he called it, the past, what was dead. He was in the 'now', and he looked at the 'will be'. In fact, the 'will be' was foremost in his mind at that moment.

Seating himself in one of the many large chairs dotted around the rooms, Sagil leaned back, and closed his eyes. Almost immediately, he was lost in a vision.

He was standing in the middle of a battlefield. The ground all around him was charred and blackened, and dead beasts lay everywhere. The wind howled around him, and it whispered._ "Three alone, three alone, against the Darkfather's blood and bone."_

Suddenly, the scene changed. He was standing on the Great Western Plains. To the west he could see the mountains, to the east the fringes of Mossflower, and a reddish blur that was probably Redwall Abbey. Then, down from the north, he could see a great horde marching. Banners flew above rank upon rank of soldiers. But this was no army of good warriors, come to help those in need. It was the horde of a vermin warlord

The black banners carried two symbols- a white eye mask which Sagil did not recognise, and, oh, horror of horrors, the split skull of a rat. Sagil moaned in despair.

But before he had time to think, the old vole was plunged into blackness. Three beasts flashed before him- a young male badger, a female otter, and a mousemaid in a green habit. Then all faded, and he opened his eyes.

Sagil shuddered, recalling the vision. The rat skull! The dreaded symbol of Darkfather, a polecat warlord who had ruled the north with an iron claw. The first beast he had ever killed was a rat, hence the symbol. But Darkfather had died years ago- what could it mean?

Then he remembered the whisper in the wind._ 'The Darkfather's blood and bone.....' _Could he have a son or daughter? The ancient water vole shook his head. "It's all too mu- too much for me." he yawned, settling down in the chair to sleep.

The wind still blew outside. 


	2. Part One- Strawberries

**Part One- Strawberries**

Greyfletch was small for a hare, but stockily built. His once sandy-brown coat was now silver-grey, but none of his warrior skills had been lost with age. He was not Colonel of the Long Patrol for nothing. 

"Swing that mace a liddle faster milord!" he cried, dodging the heavy club as it thrummed by his head. "Feint, pretend, just don't be so bally obvious!"

The young badger holding the mace grunted, feinting down at his tutor's footpaws, but suddenly swinging up at the old hare's head.  
"Oof!" cried Greyfletch, as the club intercepted his ears. "W-well done young 'un! Jolly nice swing there! Ten points I say, wot, wot!"

The young badger chuckled at his tutor.  
"Ten points aye? Not long ago you'd have given me a clip round the ear."  
"I s'pose that was payback, sah, wot?" The badger shook his head.  
"Greyfletch, Greyfletch, how many times have I told you? There's no need to call me sir, or lord, or any of that. My name's Juniper. I'm not Lord of Salamandastron yet, nor am I likely to become so in the near future. In the meantime, I would prefer to be called by my real name."

"Sorry sah, but we're bound by bally tradition. The Lord of Salmandastron, and his heir, are t' be addressed in a respectful manner. Fates alone know what 'Is Lordship'd do t' me if 'e heard me callin' you Juniper. He'd box me bally ears at least!" Juniper suddenly threw his mace at the mountainside, turning to yell at Greyfletch as it bounced off the hard rock.

"Can't you hear me! I don't want any of it! Nothing! I don't want to be the Lord of the Mountain, or the Mace reborn, or anything! I just want to be me! Just Juniper, not son of Lord Oakpaw, not Flash of the Sun! Just me!" Breathing hard, he stormed off, away from the mountain that shadowed his life.

Greyfletch gazed after him sadly. He had been there, when Kia the Scholar had come running up from the caves, full of excitement. Been there when she had breathlessly told Lord Oakpaw and Lady Rosemary that their son was Sunflash the Mace born again. Been there when she had flourished the ancient book-_ Cycle of the Ages_, and shown them the prophecies of the Three.

From that day forward he had been Juniper's personal trainer, teaching him how to handle weapons. He had majored in mace study- one day, or so the prophecies said, Juniper would wield the great mace that hung on the wall of the forge, the mace of Lord Sunflash. But when he grew older, Juniper had suddenly realised exactly_ what _it meant to be himself. And he had hated it.

"He's gone off again, aye?" said a voice behind the old hare. Greyfletch nearly jumped out of his skin, until he recognised the voice. Lord Oakpaw the Bold, Ruler of the Mountain, Guardian of the Western Shore. Countless badgers before him had held those titles, and countless would after. Sadly, he nodded. Oakpaw's voice had a sad sound to it, a feeling of regret.

"Trying to escape himself. Trying to hide." The big badger shook his head. "Juniper my son, can you not understand? You cannot run from something embedded deep in your own soul! You cannot run from who you are! None of us can!" Oakpaw shook a stern fist at the retreating back of his son.  
"Sah, there's nothing bally yellin' at him will do, beggin' y' pardon. He's got it inter his young head that he c'n get away by runnin'. He'll come back when he's hungry, wot?"  
"I hope you are right Greyfletch."

***

"Align de bow wid yer shoulder. Sight down de arrow, an' lookit the centre o' de target. Now breed in, deep bred, an' breed out an' lose de arrow at de same time."

WHOOSH-THUNK!

The brown-flighted arrow thudded into the centre of the target. The tall, slim female otter holding the bow relaxed, and turned smiling to her trainer.  
"I told you I could hit bullseye. So where's my hotroot soup?"

"Lessen thad cheek, yung rogue!" The squirrel beside her reached up, trying to cuff her round the ear, but he succeeded only in clipping her shoulder.  
"Oi!" cried the otter, fending him off. "We had a wager! I hit bullseye, you give me a pan of hotroot soup. I miss, I make you a pine cake. And I won, fair and square."  
"You wudden have got bullseye if I notta say whad to do. Dat mean I win. You'da missed if I hadden tol' you."

"You bet?" The young ottermaid's blood was up now. "I bet you, that I could still hit bullseye from double this distance. _Without _help." The squirrel chuckled.  
"Nobodee on'y half way troo da trainin' hit bullseye four hundred. Even_ I _prob'ly not hit bullseye four hundred. No liddle trainee do it." Suddenly, the ottermaid grabbed his tunic collar. Lifting him off the ground bodily, she slammed his back into the nearest tree. Her eyes, strange sparkling green eyes, were burning in anger.

"Don't EVER call me 'little trainee'. Ever! I'll hit that bullseye from anywhere you like. The O'Liaths are a warrior family, we've been archers for more seasons than a score of cringers like you could count. And Caitrin O'Liath is no exception."  
"Ooh yes Miz Caitrin. Den would you like ta try de four hundred pace?" Caitrin dropped him, gathered up her bow and quiver, and marched off, calling back to him.

"I won't try Tac- I'll succeed!"

She smiled as she scratched a line where the four hundred pace mark was. The target was distant now, she could not see the bullseye exactly anymore.  
"Oh well," she said, then muttered a little saying under her breath. She had heard a traveller saying it once, and she found it helped her concentrate. "Win or lose, loss or gain, all's just thunder in the rain."

Nocking an arrow to her bowstring, she lifted the small shoulder bow, and pulled back the string to eye level. Carefully sighting down the arrow, she imagined it speeding towards it's target. She took a deep breath, then breathed out as the loosed the arrow.

WHOOSH! It sped along, its course prefectly straight, zooming towards the target. Tac watched it with a rather dismayed expression as it thudded deep into the dead centre of the target. Caitrin felt the exhaltation of winning build up inside her. She yelled to the sky.  
"LUTRAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

"Yesyes Miz Caitrin, so you won. You be wantin' dat pan o' hotrood soup now, s'pose?"  
"Well what do you think?"

***

Rowena ran along the abbey lawn, her basket of strawberries swinging from her arm. She must get to the kitchens. Suddenly, she felt her paw connect with a hard surface, and she went flying.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed as she landed hard on her face and skidded along the ground. Her strawberries were littered all over the surrounding ground. Slowly she picked herself up, trying to wipe the mud off her pale green novice's habit.

"Oh acorns!" she said, seeing the scattered fruit. She picked up her basket, and went to collect them.

"Here let me do that," said a voice behind her as she bent to pick up the first. She turned, and saw Orion standing behind her. The young mouse was roughly the same age as she, and he too was a novice._ Oh seasons! _, she thought._ I've got mud all down my front! What _will_ he think? _Blushing furiously, she scrubbed at the offending dirt with a paw.

"Look," said Orion kindly, taking he basket from her and grabbing a strawberry."I'll take these into the kitchen. You go and get cleaned up. You must've tripped on a rock or something sticking up."

Her cheeks still bright red, Rowena mumbled a 'thank you', and scampered off to the dormitories.

When she had closed the door of the small room she shared with two other novices, the young mousemaid sat down on her bed with a thump. _Why do I always make a fool of myself around him? _she asked silently. _I looked so stupid, fumbling around with mud all down my front. Why can't I just be sensible? I'll never become a Sister of Redwall if I keep tripping over my own paws, and fumbling for clouds. Mother Holly says I need to learn to have more patience. But I can't!_

She rolled onto her back, and stared at the plain ceiling.  
"Why can't I?" she said to herself. "What's wrong with me? Why can't I become calm, and sedate? Why can't I make Orion think I'm not just some idiot?" She clenched her paws in anger.

Down in the kitchens, Orion passed the basket of strawberries to one of the helpers, and meandered off. He was not sure where to go, but his paws slowly carried him in the direction of the dormitories. He stopped briefly in his own, but something told him to carry on down the corridor. He stopped outside Rowena's.

Orion did not need to press his ear to the door to detect the sound of sobs coming from within. He knocked softly. There were scuffling noises, then a murmured  
"C-come in." He pushed the door open.

Rowena was seated on her bed. She had changed her habit, but her eyes were red and puffy from crying. She gasped when she saw Orion, and scrubbed at her eyes, making them look even redder.

"O-Orion, wh-what do you want?" Orion sat down next to her on the bed.  
"I just came to see if you might have hurt yourself when you fell, that's all. So are you okay?"  
"Y-yes, I'm f-fine." Orion smiled wryly.  
"I suppose you don't want to tell me why you're crying, aye?"  
"C-crying? No, I j-just had something in m-my eye, th-that's all. I wasn't c-crying at all."

The young mouse raised one eybrow, stood up, and held out his paw to Rowena.  
"Well come on downstairs then. I'll bet Friar Danno's got more tasks for us novices to do- what with the spring nameday feast tonight." Rowena managed a weak smile. She took Orion's outstretched paw, and he led her out of the dormitory and down the rickety old wooden staircase.

All around them, abbey creatures bustled about their daily lives, but each one harboured a spark of excitement. The Summer Nameday feast was tonight, where Abbot Thistle would announce the season's name. Food, fun, music and laughter, all were waiting. For the evening.


	3. Part Two- Where the Sun Sets

**Part Two- Where the Sun Sets**

"Well, well," said Friar Danno, gazing at the two mice. "More jobs, you say? I never was so eager as a novice. Lessee, hmm, ah, hmm." The short, tubby otter moved off among the many simmering pots and bubbling pans that the Redwall kitchens housed. Orion and Rowena followed him, occasionally peering into an oven, or sniffing the air.

"AHAH!" cried Danno, startling them. "Here's what you can do! Summer Slice!" He waved a chubby paw at a pile of laid out ingredients.  
"Strawberries, raspberries and blackcurrants, all have to be stewed in one o' those big pans. Then you make the oatcake bits, that should be easy, then put half of the oatcake mix at the bottom of this baking dish, then the stewed fruit on top, then the rest of the oatcake. Got it?" Two heads nodded in agreement. Danno beamed, then something caught the corner of his eye.

"Hoi, you dibbuns! Just where d' you think you're going with those pasties?" He marched off towards the cooling sills. Orion grinned, and rolled up his habit sleeves.  
"Right," he said. "You do the stewing, I'll make the oatcake. Okay?" Rowena nodded, and they set to with good will.  
Just across the kitchen, two dibbuns, namely Garn the mole and Weddle the shrew, were wreaking havoc with the ingredients for the famed Redcurrantwall Abbot Alf cake. Redcurrant jelly was squelched all over the walls, flour adorned the tabletop, and dried fruit was littered on the floor around them. Friar Danno was tearing out his headfur in frustration, torn between scolding the dibbuns, and clearing up the mess.

"Oh you bad, _bad _mole Gern! You just wait until your father hears about this..... dearie me, must salvage as much fruit as we can if we are to make this cake at all..... You dreadful little shrew, Weddle! I've a good mind to get Log-a-log and the rest of your tribe right now- they're out helping to set the tables. Oooh, must be careful of the redcurrant jelly, it'll fall!"

"Yurr, doan't get thoiself in a tizzle, zurr Danno," called a rustic voice from the other end of the kitchens. Kurth, a mole, and Dran, a shrew, were walking towards the hapless otter. Kurth clipped Gern round the ear as she approached.  
"Yurr, get thoiself daown to cellar, yung ripscaggle. Owr farther'll 'ave wurds with 'ee thur. Get goin', afore oi takes a ladle to 'ee!" Gern bowed his head and shuffled out.

Weddle looked imploringly at her brother, but Dran frowned in reply.  
"What have you done now, Weddle?" he sighed. "It's bad enough that I get lumbered with you when mother goes on a fishing trip, but you don't have to make extra trouble! Now go outside, and explain what you've done to Log-a-log. Great seasons!" Dran threw up his paws as Weddle shuffled out. Kurth smiled wryly.

"They'm both gurt bags o' trubble, they'm two. Oi knows 'ow 'ee feels- moi farther allus says oi gotter look arfter that scallywag, whoil 'eem wurkin' in cellar. Hurr, samplin' 'tober ale an' suchloike. Hurr, samplin' moi diggen claws!"  
"Aye, that Weddle is the ringleader, I'm sure. You'll always find her in the middle of any trouble that ensues, surrounded by dibbuns that'd be as good as gold if she hadn't led them down the garden path. Mother 'n' I despair of her sometimes, she'll never learn to be a proper Union member."

The two beasts pitched in with Danno to clear up the mess.  
  


***

"It's the first day of summer, and winter's well away,  
So sing and dance on this happy day,  
The river's flowin' smoothly, the trees are full of fruit,  
The plants are all a-laughin', from flowers to the roots,  
The birds are singin' birdsongs, and I'm a-singin' mine,  
All for the summer and the warm sunshine,  
The frogs are all a-croakin', the fish a-swimmin' free,  
So join in the summer, and sing with me!"

"Bravo, encore, encore!" cried the beasts of Holt Kyrie, milling round Caitrin as she took her bow.  
"Why don't we get Willow to sing something?" she asked slyly, pointing at the squirrelmaid seated in a corner. "She's a lovely voice." Willow blushed.  
"Nay, nay, y' don't want me a-singin'. Y'd all run fer cover!" Caitrin walked over to her friend, and hauled the squirrel to her paws.  
"C'mon, sing tht one about the frog and the butterfly."  
"Oh all reet then, I suppose I shall 'ave to."

Willow walked forward to take Caitrin's place at th front of the hall, still blushing furiously. Caitrin sat down beside her father, Coyle. Coyle O'Liath was the current head of the family. He smiled at his daughter, and whispered:  
"You just couldn't be bothered to sing again, could you?" Caitrin pretended not to hear.

"A frog was sittin' in his lily pond,  
Lily pond, away-oh,  
Then along came a butterfly with wings of gold,  
Wings of gold, away-oh,  
She flittered an' fluttered above that water,  
Flitter an' flutter, away-oh,  
An' said 'Will you marry my daughter',  
Marry my daughter, away-oh,  
An' the frog said 'Why, Miss Butterfly,  
Miss Butterfly, away-oh,  
Do you come down out of the sky,  
Out of the sky, away-oh  
To talk to me 'bout marry your daughter,  
Talk to me, away-oh  
Disturb me in my secret water,  
Secret water, away-oh  
You got me mad, so fly away,  
Got me mad, away-oh  
Don't come back another day,  
Don't come back, away-oh,  
So that butterfly, flew into the sky,  
Flew into the sky, away-oh,  
She said 'You evil scoffer o' flies,  
Scoffer o' flies, away-oh,  
My daughter, she have broken heart,  
Broken heart, away-oh,  
She's loved you true right from the start,  
Loved you true, away-oh,  
The frog said 'You old fibber you,  
Old fibber you, away-oh,  
Your daughter never loved me true,  
Never loved me, away-oh,  
I saw her round 'bout yesterday,  
Yesterday, away-oh,  
She said 'Sticky-tongue, oh go away,  
Sticky tongue, away-oh,  
So fly away you silly thing,  
Silly thing, away-oh,  
Leave me here in peace-oooooooh,  
Leave me here in peace!"

Everybeast clapped, as Willow breathed deeply, clambering down from the small platform. She smiled, flopping down in a chair next to Caitrin.  
"Few, that wus a-gettin' difficult. I shouldn't sing such long songs, it damages me throat."

Suddenly a great cry went up.  
"The Feast! The Feast!" There was much grating of chairs as everybeast stood up. Six otters dressed in white aprons and tall chefs' hats walked in, pushing six trolleys laden with food. The foremost one walked up to Coyle O'Liath, and swept off his hat as he bowed.  
"Sir, the Summerfeast is served!" Everybeast cheered as the cooks slid the trolleys alongside the tables and begn unloading the food. As usual, the spread was wonderful, with dishes ranging from salads to cheesecakes, fruit pies to hotroot soup.

"'S ver' gudd," mumbled Coyle, shoving salad and watershrimp garnish into a hot roll as he munched on a beetroot.  
"Dad!" cried Caitrin, elbowing him. "You shouldn't talk with your mouth full.It's bad manners."  
"'S bad mammers t' elbo' me."

The feast went on happily, everybeast tucking in with good will. Willow nudged her friend.  
"Heey Caitrin, did you git that soop aff ol' Tac?"  
"Aye, I finally managed to. Old skinflint, he kept trying to back out of it. Cringer. Did I tell you he called me a 'little trainee'? Trainee my quiver. I'm twice the archer he'll ever be,_ and _I've not finished the complete training."

Willow shook her head when Caitrin had turned away. The young ottermaid was always full of the fact that she was an O'Liath, and a very good archer, as were her whole family. Frankly, Caitrin's head was beginning to swell. In a short while, she would probably become like most otters in the Eastlands- self-important, patronising to other creatures, and completely sure of the fact that _they _were the most important creatures in the world. Willow's family had always seemed to be fated to become attatched to an O'Liath, then pushed away when the otter grew older.

"O'Liaths and Flynns," whispered Willow, shaking her head again. "Close as peas in a pod, they say. But someday that pod will be broken."  


***

Juniper was awakened by a knock on the door of his chamber. The young badger sat up, bedclothes falling off him, as three young leverets. shyly pushed the door open. They were dressed in tunics as blue as a cloudless sky, and they each had rings of flowers around their heads. The foremost one, a female, carried a wand of hazelwood. They looked almost fearfully at the adolecsent badger. He smiled at them, to ease their fear. They smiled back nervously.

"Er- The spring has passed us," began the wand-carrier.  
"The-um- winter is to come," continued the second.  
"But here's the -ah -summer," said the third.  
"Under the sun!" they said together, and ran away.

Juniper grinned as he dressed and washed. That was an old tradition at Salamandastron- three young ones going from dormitory to dormitory and waking up the occupants on the first day of summer with a verse. No wonder they had been nervous of him- when he had come back after storming off, he had had a row with his father that shook the foundations. Very rarely were there two grown or nearly-grown male badgers at the mountain- fighting always ensued.

Pinning his navy blue cloak around his shoulders with his best brooch, Juniper straightened his dark green tunic and walked out of the room. It felt good to be alive on such a beautiful morning.  
"Good mornin' sah!" said a tubby young hare named Whils as Juniper passed him in the hallway.  
"Morning Whils, and happy Summertide to you!"

The young badger walked happily into the dining room, where his mother and father sat. His mother, Lady Rosemary, wore a long dress of soft yellow. On her head was a silver band, with summer flowers woven around it. Lord Oakpaw was dressed in the traditional manner for Badger Lords on the first day of summer, with wild flowers woven in his beard and a green hazel wand in his paw. His tunic and cloak were beautifully woven, of all the greens of summer.

"Welcome to Salamandastron on the first day of a new summer!" cried Oakpaw as his son drew close to the twin thrones he and his wife sat upon. Juniper wanted to roll his eyes. Every summer his father insisted on addressing everybeast as if they had only just arrived. Last year there had been a row when Juniper had pointed out how silly this custom was. But Lady Rosemary gave her son a warning look, and he kept his peace.

As the hares sat down to partake of the First Summer Breakfast, Rosemary inwardly sighed. It would only be a matter of time before Juniper either ran away, or Oakpaw ordered his son out. Whenever the two badgers even came into the same room, you could almost feel the air buzzing from the tension. Young male badgers were rarely brought up at the mountain- normally it was the preserve of solitary rulers (apart from the hares of course). But the tradition had been broken by Russano the Wise, who had raised his son and daughter at the mountain.

Russano was Oakpaw's grandsire. Melanius his daughter had taken over the mountain after him, whilst her brother Snowstripe went wandering. But she had died childless, and he had returned to the mountain one day with a wife and a young son- Oakpaw.

But now Juniper was growing into an adult, and he was breaking out of the mould that had been set for him since he was tiny. He was trying to break free of what he was, who he was. And Oakpaw did not understand why.

Chatter went up and down the tables, as everybeast helped themselves to a portion of food. But not one morsel was touched. Oakpaw stood up fom his throne at the end of the table. Each and every hare, and the other two badgers, bowed his or her head, as the Lord of the Mountain began to recite.

"The changing seasons whirl around,  
As we stumble blindly on the ground,  
Our fate surrounds us, and near is death,  
By the edge of the shoreline where the sun sets."  



End file.
